Crypt of the Shadowking

by Mark Anthony

  “Perhaps this Snake fellow is just a fool who’s a bit too full of himself,” Tyveris offered.

  “I don’t think so,” Caledan said, shaking his head.

  “He is only pretending to serve her,” Morhion agreed. The magical jewel sat on the table before him, dark now. “He is only waiting for the right moment for betrayal.”

  Caledan gazed intently at the mage. “I suppose you would know about things like that, wouldn’t you?”

  No one spoke for a tense minute until Ferret broke the silence. “There’s still one thing I don’t understand. Why is Snake going to so much trouble to kill everyone in the Realms with the shadow magic? Talek Talembar told us that only someone who possesses the shadow magic can utilize the Nightstone.”

  Caledan scratched the disreputable-looking growth of beard on his chin. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “The Harpers know for a fact that Ravendas has been searching for someone with the shadow magic for years,” Mari ventured. “That may be why she has been trying to capture you alive, Caledan. She needs someone with the shadow magic for when she gets her hands on the Nightstone.”

  “Well,” Tyveris said finally, “if Snake doesn’t serve Ravendas, then who does he serve?”

  No one had an answer for the loremaster’s question.

  * * * * *

  Caledan and Ferret waited just inside the mouth of the cramped, musty-smelling storm sewer. Caledan had not enjoyed crawling through the narrow, debris-cluttered tunnel. Ferret had wriggled his way through the pipe like a snake, but Caledan’s broad shoulders had proven a liability, and more than once he had nearly gotten stuck.

  Now the walled courtyard surrounding the High Tower of the city lord lay just on the other side of the rusted iron grating that covered the pipe. The others had protested earlier that morning when Caledan had told them he intended to sneak into the tower, but he had waved their caution aside.

  “I’m not going in to confront Ravendas,” he had growled. “At least not yet. All I want to do is try to find out how close she is to locating the Nightstone.”

  Caledan had planned to try to bluff his way through the tower’s gate disguised as a Zhentarim warrior, but Ferret had suggested the ancient, forgotten storm drain as a less conspicuous method.

  Caledan watched as black-booted feet marched by on the other side of the iron grate. After a minute Ferret motioned that the coast was clear. Quickly the thief shifted the grate to one side, slipping out. Caledan swiftly followed, replacing the grate behind him. They brushed the dirt from their black leather garb. They had stolen the uniforms from a pair of guards whose corpses were still cooling in a dim alleyway not far from the tower.

  “I look like a buffoon!” Ferret swore softly as he futilely tried to adjust his swordbelt. Even though one of the guards had been nearly his size, the little thief looked ill at ease in the stiff leather uniform.

  Caledan himself had fared quite a bit better than the thief in terms of fit. Unlike Ferret’s, his uniform included an embossed, black enameled breastplate and an ornate helm with a visor that concealed his face.

  As Ferret had promised, the two found themselves inside the wall that surrounded the tower. The sun was just on the verge of setting. Streaks of angry crimson and molten gold crossed the evening sky, silhouetting the single, unblemished spire.

  Ferret nudged Caledan. A half-dozen Zhentarim were marching across the barren courtyard toward them. Caledan clenched his jaw and kept walking, doing his best to look as if he were at home. However, the guards did not accost them as he feared. Instead, much to his astonishment, they saluted him as they marched past. Hurriedly Caledan returned the formal salute—a fist clenched before the forehead.

  “It looks like I’ve got the livery of someone important,” he noted under his breath. “You’d better act like my subordinate so we don’t attract undue attention.”

  “Lucky me,” Ferret replied acidly.

  Eight guards stood, swords drawn, to either side of the tower’s massive bronze doors. Just as Caledan and Ferret approached, the great doors swung open, and a flock of gaudily attired men and women, followed by pages and scribes, began to exit the tower, streaming down the expansive stone steps. Some of them wore self-important expressions on their faces, a few wore looks of disgust, but most simply looked like small, frightened animals.

  “The city’s lords,” Ferret whispered.

  Caledan nodded. “They must be getting out of a session in the Hall of Argument”

  The two took advantage of the confusion to thread their way through the crowd and slip across the threshold.

  Nearly the entire base of the tower was taken up by the vast Hall of Argument. Its high ceiling was supported by countless arches soaring up in graceful vaults. The ceiling was covered with luminous frescoes, and the light of a hundred torches reflected off the hall’s polished stone floors. Ferret allowed Caledan little time to gaze at the splendor of the place, however. He ducked into a side corridor, roughly pulling Caledan with him.

  “That’s no way to treat your superior,” Caledan snorted under his breath.

  “I thought you’d like it better than a knife in your back,” Ferret replied.

  They moved swiftly down the corridor. Several more Zhentarim passed the pair, saluting Caledan. Caledan returned the gesture, trying his best to keep his bearing stiff, as one would expect of a commander. They soon reached a spiral staircase leading up to the tower’s higher levels.

  “Breldurn, there you are!” a voice suddenly exclaimed behind them.

  Caledan felt his heart lurch in his chest “Keep walking,” he hissed to Ferret.

  “I say, Breldurn, wait there!” the rough voice called out again. “It’s me, Drim!” Booted footsteps sounded behind them, and Caledan reluctantly came to a halt.

  He turned around to find himself looking into the eyes of a grizzled, powerfully built sergeant. “Say, I’m glad I caught you, Breldurn. Lord Cutter would’ve had my head if I missed you. She wants to see you right away.” He winked then, a wicked smile crossing his face. “You lucky devil. I told you she had an eye for you. Now come with me. I’m to see you to her chambers myself. Milord’s orders.”

  Caledan glanced in panic at Ferret, but the thief’s eyes were wide. He didn’t know what to do either. Caledan swore inwardly. Apparently he had had the misfortune to steal the uniform of some man Ravendas favored. Thank the gods he was wearing a visor.

  “Right now?” Caledan said, keeping his voice husky.

  “Yes, now,” the man called Drim said. “Do you want to keep Cutter waiting?”

  “I suppose not,” Caledan said hoarsely. Drim frowned.

  “What’s the matter with your voice, Breldurn?”

  Caledan gave a cough. “Cold,” he explained.

  Drim grinned slyly. “Well, I hope you’ll have enough vigor to handle Cutter properly. Now, let’s go before she strings us both up. Our master’s a pretty one, but she doesn’t like it when she’s kept waiting.”

  Caledan sighed, resigned to his fate. A score of guards were marching down the corridor. He and Ferret would not be able to fight their way out.

  “I’ll meet you later,” he said to Ferret. The thief looked at him with surprise. “That’s an order!”

  “Yes, sir,” Ferret said, saluting. Without another glance, he hurried away down the hall. At least Ferret would escape. Caledan could be confident of that.

  “All right, Drim,” Caledan said, taking a deep breath. “Take me to Lord Cutter.”

  * * * * *

  The heavy, iron-banded door shut behind Caledan, and he heard the sound of a lock turning. The two Zhentarim warriors outside the portal had taken his sword. There was nothing to do now except to wait for Ravendas.

  The chamber he found himself in was circular, about twenty paces across. The dark stone floor was strewn with silvery furs, and the walls hung with richly woven tapestries. The furniture was ornate and expensive-looking. A fire burned brightly in the great ar
chway of a marble fireplace. There were windows facing to the south and west, but it was a good distance to the courtyard below. Jumping would be a desperate option indeed.

  Suddenly Caledan heard the faint sound of music. It was coming from near the fire, the sweet, rich voice of a lute. The melody was none Caledan recognized, but it was both lovely and sorrowful, filled with a sense of longing.

  Curious, he walked slowly toward the source of the music. It was a boy, sitting in a large armchair that had concealed him from Caledan’s immediate view. The boy was small—no more than eight or nine, Caledan guessed—his feet dangling several inches above the floor. His smooth hair was raven-dark, his skin as pale as snow. His green eyes were widely spaced, bordered by dark lashes, and his cheeks were lightly touched by blooms of pink from the heat of the fire.

  The boy strummed the lacquered lute with small, perfect hands, gazing absently into the fire. Caledan simply stood there, entranced, listening to the music. Finally the song ended on a long, wistful note, and the boy’s hands fell from the instrument. “Hello,” he said in a pure, sweet voice, though he barely lifted his gaze from the fire.

  “Hello,” Caledan stammered, a bit startled by the calmness of the boy’s tone.

  “You’ve come to see my mother, haven’t you?” he said, gazing up at Caledan. Behind his visor a look of shock passed over Caledan’s face. My mother?

  “You didn’t know she had a son, did you?” the boy said.

  “No, I didn’t,” Caledan replied truthfully enough.

  The boy shrugged. “Most people don’t. I think she keeps me a secret.”

  Fascinated, Caledan knelt by the boy’s chair. “Why does she keep you a secret?” he asked, his voice gentle.

  The boy smiled, yet it was a melancholy expression, making his face seem wise beyond his years. “You don’t know my mother terribly well, do you? Everything is a secret to her.”

  Caledan shook his head. There was something peculiar about this boy, but something compelling as well. He could only guess how terrible it must be to grow up under Ravendas’s care.

  The boy’s eyes shone. “She’ll break me when she’s done with me, you know. That’s what she does with everybody, once she’s used them. She’ll break you, too, as soon as you finish whatever it is she wants you to do. I’ve seen her do it to others.”

  Caledan shuddered. “It doesn’t have to be that way, you know,” he said. “You don’t have to do what she wishes. She can’t break you, not if you’re strong.”

  For a brief moment a light glimmered in the boy’s eyes like a flicker of hope. Then it vanished. “I used to dream of things like that,” he said abjectly. “I don’t dream anymore.”

  Before Caledan could say anything more, he heard the lock of the door turning. Quickly he stepped away from the boy. The chamber door opened, and Ravendas stepped through. Caledan felt a hot wave of hatred rush through his body but forced himself to stand firm.

  She was dressed in a gown of crimson and gold, hues accented by her red lips and shimmering hair. She was exquisitely beautiful, like a too-perfect rose which, upon closer inspection, reveals a rotting, loathsome center within its petals.

  Ravendas stepped blithely into the room. “I see you received my summons, Captain Breldurn,” she purred in a voice as thick and cloying as honey. “You may greet me,” she said imperiously.

  Though he was unsure what the proper greeting was, Caledan dared not hesitate. He strode to her and knelt as she presented her hand. He bent his head over her proffered hand and raised his visor just enough for a kiss. He hesitated a scant second. This is the hand that strangled Kera, he thought. He clenched his jaw, swallowing bile. He pressed his lips against the smooth skin of her hand. He stood then, letting the visor fall back into place.

  She smiled, displaying her perfect white teeth. “You’re a bashful one, Captain Breldurn,” she crooned. “I find that charming in a man. But then, innocence can grow tiresome after a time. We shall cure you of this soon enough.”

  She glanced toward the chair where the boy sat, silently watching. “Leave us, Kellen,” she said coldly. “Find Snake and practice your music for him.”

  “Yes, Mother,” the boy said. He picked up his lute and walked to a side door, turning the knob with a small hand. He cast one backward glance at Caledan, then stepped through the portal. Caledan made a silent oath to himself then. If it was at all possible, he was going to rescue that child from Ravendas.

  “Come with me, my shy soldier,” Ravendas said with a sultry laugh. She took his hand and led him to a divan covered with snowy white furs. She sat down, the crimson silk of her dress spilling bloodlike over the white fur. She leaned forward to fill two crystal glasses with ruby-colored wine from a decanter resting on a black lacquered table.

  For a heartbeat, time seemed to cease for Caledan. He realized this was the moment he had been waiting for these last seven years. This was the perfect chance to exact his vengeance upon Ravendas. As she leaned forward her graceful neck was extended like a swan’s, and the large vein that ran in her throat stood out clearly against her pale skin. The guards at the door had taken his sword, but the boots he wore were still his own. Inside the right boot was a small throwing knife. In less than the time required to take a single breath, he could produce the knife and slit Ravendas’s throat.

  He knew there would be little chance of escaping. Even if Ravendas died without a sound—something he could not count on—there was no way to slip by the guards outside the door. They would know something was awry, and his life would be forfeit.

  But did that matter? All he had lived for these last seven years was revenge against Ravendas. Once he had revenge, his life would mean nothing to him. His hand inched its way down his leg, toward the hidden knife. You will be avenged, Kera, he vowed to himself for the final time. His fingers brushed the hilt of the knife.

  Suddenly his hand froze.

  After a moment he sighed, his hand dropping away from the concealed knife. Ravendas turned and handed him a goblet of the deep red wine. The moment for vengeance had passed.

  Why didn’t you kill her? a part of his mind screamed at him, but he pushed the question aside. He knew the answer.

  Ravendas’s death was exactly what Snake wanted.

  He forced himself to remember that Snake was the greater danger now, not Ravendas. Perhaps he should use this opportunity to warn her. If anyone had the power to defeat Snake, it was she. At least he had to try.

  Forgive me, Kera, he whispered inwardly.

  “Come, Breldurn, speak a toast to me,” Ravendas said in a lilting voice, lifting her glass.

  I can’t believe I’m going to do this, Caledan snarled to himself. This must be the Harper’s bad influence on me.

  “To you, Ravendas,” he said as he lifted his goblet, the words dripping like poison from his tongue.

  He flipped up his visor.

  Shock flickered in her azure gaze for only a second. Then a dangerous smile coiled about her red lips.

  “It has been some time, Caledan Caldorien,” she said, her voice as cold as steel. Swiftly, before he could react, she snaked out a hand and reached deftly inside his right boot. She drew out the small knife concealed there.

  “Right where you always kept it,” she said with a smile that would have been enchanting had it not been so devoid of warmth. “If nothing else, you were always predictable, Caledan.”

  “Do you mean to say you were expecting me, Ravendas?” He made no effort to hide the revulsion in his voice. He pulled off the hot, uncomfortable helm.

  She stood and moved to the window, gazing out for a long moment. She sipped her wine delicately. “No, but I should have known my lord steward would fail once again in his efforts to capture you.” She moved to a chair opposite him and sat, arranging her gown precisely.

  “So who was this ‘Captain Breldurn’?” Caledan asked casually, emphasizing the past tense. The meaning was not lost on Ravendas. “How did he compare with Maderon?” Cale
dan allowed himself a vicious smile. Maderon was the nobleman who had intended to murder Cormik years ago. He had also been Ravendas’s lover. “You know, I never would have taken Maderon for a screamer. You should have heard the way he begged for mercy on the end of my sword before he died. Shameful.”

  Caledan saw the briefest ripple of annoyance flicker across Ravendas’s placid visage. He had struck home with that one.

  “Ah, yes. Maderon,” Ravendas said frostily, recovering her perfect composure. “He was an entertaining toy. Pretty, but stupid. I was growing weary of him, however. I should thank you for disposing of him.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Did you enjoy your little journey to the Fields of the Dead?” Ravendas asked, quickly changing the subject. “I trust you weren’t disappointed when you arrived at the valley near Asher. There must be ten thousand barrows there. You’re a clever man. I’m sure you realized that finding Talembar’s tomb is an impossibility.”

  “Did you journey there yourself?”

  “Of course,” she replied calmly. “I’ve been far ahead of you from the beginning, Caledan. Don’t you see? It is pointless to struggle against me.” Her expression darkened. “You know,” she went on, “stealing my jewels from the countinghouse made me very … angry.”

  “I hope you’re not expecting me to apologize,” Caledan said, refilling his wine glass.

  Ravendas regarded him for a long moment, absently fidgeting with the strand of pearls about her throat. “All right, Caledan, what is it you want?” she demanded flatly.

  “I’ve come to warn you, Ravendas,” Caledan said simply. “Your lord steward is planning to betray you. While I don’t know who he is, I do know that Snake serves another master, a powerful one.” He went on in a dire tone. “What Snake and his master are planning, I can’t really say, but I think it involves the Nightstone. At any rate, he’s gone to great lengths to kill everyone who possesses the shadow magic. You’re in grave danger, Ravendas. We all are. What are you going to do about it?”

  She laughed, a sound utterly devoid of mirth.